I Woke Up Wearing His Coat On His Warehouse Floor While He Asked Why I Was There

The office was just drywall and a space heater, tucked against the back of LOCATION_X. He hadn't turned on the overhead, just the desk lamp, and the light fell amber across a metal desk, a chipped mug, a clipboard with delivery slips. I sat in the folding chair he'd pulled out for me, the charcoal coat still wrapped tight around my shoulders, my stockinged feet tucked under the chair because I couldn't bring myself to put the beige heels back on in front of him.

He poured coffee from a thermos into two mugs. He didn't ask if I wanted it. He just set one down in front of me and kept the other for himself. His silver watch caught the lamp light when he moved.

"Drink that," he said. "You're shaking."

I wasn't, but my hands were cold enough that the mug burned. I held it anyway.

He leaned against the desk instead of sitting behind it, like he didn't want the desk between us. "You're Margo, right?"

The way he said it wasn't a question he'd just thought of. It was the same way he'd said it on the floor. Margo? What happened? Like he'd been trying to place me.

I nodded.

"I knew I knew you," he said. "You came in last month. Front desk? We were hiring for inventory. Seasonal."

That wasn't right. I waited for him to finish.

"You filled out an application," he went on. "Blue pen. You had your hair pulled back. You asked if we did second shift only."

I shook my head before I realized I was doing it. "No."

He frowned a little. Not annoyed, just recalibrating.

"That wasn't me," I said. My voice sounded rough. I hadn't used it much since Sir, I can explain. "I never applied here. I've never been in this building before last night."

He studied me for a second. "Then where?"

"The workforce center," I said. "Downtown. On Fifth. You were there for the hiring event. Two weeks ago. You had a table by the window."

His eyebrows lifted. He remembered the event, not me.

"You were with the county program," I said. "You were interviewing for a forklift cert class. I was in line for the childcare assistance desk. You asked me if the copy machine was working."

He laughed, short and quiet. "Did I?"

"You did," I said. "I told you it ate my documents. You said to use the one in the back by the restrooms. I didn't. I left."

"And you remember me from that?" he asked.

"You had the same suit," I said. "Same watch. You checked it three times while you waited."

He looked down at the watch without meaning to, then back at me. The thin tie between us settled into place. Not intimate. Not personal. A thirty-second exchange by a broken copier that I'd held onto because he'd been nice when he didn't have to be, and he'd held onto my name from a roster or a sign-in sheet he'd glanced at.

"That tracks," he said. "They gave us the attendee list afterward. Margo Ellis. I put a check by your name. You'd written that you had warehouse experience."

"I worked at Food City," I said. "Stocking. Before that, school cafeteria."

He nodded like that explained something.

The heater clicked and hummed louder. I pulled the coat tighter. It smelled faintly of cedar and clean laundry, not like me at all.

"This yours?" I asked, because I needed to say it out loud.

He glanced at the coat. "Warehouse spare. We keep a few in the lockers for drivers who get stuck overnight in winter. That one was mine. I left it on the hook by the bay door."

I thought about last night, finding it hanging there, thinking it was lost and found, thinking no one would miss it for one night on the concrete. My cheeks got hot.

"I thought it was—" I started, then stopped. "I didn't steal it. I was cold."

"I know," he said. "I saw you had it folded under your head before you wrapped up in it. You didn't know if you were allowed."

His noticing that made my throat tight. I looked down at my feet.

"And these?" He gestured with his mug toward the heels sitting neatly by the office door where I'd placed them. Light beige, pointed toe, one with a scuff on the heel from the sidewalk.

"My interview shoes," I said. "From the same day. At the workforce center."

"You wore those to a hiring event?"

"I didn't know what else to wear. I walked from the bus station. My boots broke last month."

He didn't say anything for a moment. He just drank his coffee.

"I can pay you back for the coat," I said. "For using it. I washed it— I mean I will. I didn't."

"You don't owe me for the coat," he said.

But the way he said it wasn't charity. It was fact, like the coat had done its job.

He set his mug down. "So we cleared that up," he said. "You weren't my applicant. You were the girl at the copier. I remembered your name wrong."

"And I remembered you right," I said.

"Yeah," he said. He pushed off the desk and finally sat in the desk chair, putting a little distance back. Professional again. "That puts us even, except for one thing."

I knew what it was. The question he'd asked on the floor, the one I still hadn't answered properly. Why are you sleeping in my warehouse?

I stared at the coffee going cold in my hands.

"You don't have to tell me everything," he said. "But you do have to tell me something real. If you stayed here last night, something happened yesterday that made this the best option you had. I need to know what that was before I decide what happens today."